


Oh Let's Go Back To The Start

by apuppynamedliam



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apuppynamedliam/pseuds/apuppynamedliam
Summary: Harry cheated on Louis. Louis cheated right back. Can the two pick up the pieces of their love or is everything broken beyond repair?Excerpt:Louis studied Harry’s face once more. The morning sun was slowly rising, the rays of it reflecting on this guy’s glorious mane. He was criminally beautiful. No one was supposed to look that way before 7 a.m. on a Saturday. That was a time for hangovers and walks of shame. Harry was the exception, apparently. “Alright, as long as you’re paying for tea and keeping your dog well-behaved, lead the way.”





	Oh Let's Go Back To The Start

**Author's Note:**

> The title’s taken from Coldplay’s The Scientist, which I was listening to when I started writing this. I suggest you listen to that after you’ve read through the piece. It’s pretty short. Do note that I haven't really done a thorough edit of this piece, but I'll do so when I have the time. Please forgive me if you spot any glaring mistakes. Anyhoo, I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it.

**The final fight**

He wanted him to be angry. He wanted to come home, open the door, and see Harry towering over him in rage. He wanted to see his madness on his face—nostrils flaring, eyes stabbing him like a million daggers, tongue ready to lash out with a barrage of hurtful insults—but all he got was this sight of a man sitting on the edge of their bed, shaking uncontrollably as another wave of tears threatened to escape him. Harry looked at him with the eyes of a lover whose heart had just been run over by a ten wheeler speeding at a thousand miles per hour.

“How could you, Lou?”

Harry’s words barely registered in his ears. They were too distracted by the thoughts fighting over the crowded space in his head. He had wanted this. He wanted him to hurt. He wanted him to get mad. But—

“How could you?” Harry repeated.

“You did it first.”

Louis’s words came out as easily as he had rehearsed them over and over again. But the satisfaction of finally saying them wasn’t there. They didn’t quite feel right slipping off his tongue. They felt like venom on his lips burning him and Harry in the process.

“I said was sorry.”

“It’s too late, Harry.”

The sound of his name on Louis’s lips had broken any composure he had left. Harry let out a bitter wail, each heaving sob carrying so much hurt and defeat. And Louis just stared at him. He stared as the man he loved cried over what little remained of their relationship. He would not console him. He would not get on his knees to apologize. Louis had wanted this. He wanted him to hurt the way he had hurt him. He wanted to. He had convinced himself that he wanted to.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Harry struggled in between sobs, “What do you want me to say, Lou? What do you want me to do? I already apologized.”

“Save it, Harry. I honestly don’t want to hear it.”

“Why are you being so mean?” Harry choked, barely getting his words out. “I love you, Lou. I love you.”

“I said save it!” Louis yelled.

The tears did not stop. They would not stop. And it was all too much for Louis. Cheaters did not get to cry. They had no right to. They did not deserve redemption. Not from him.

“If this is what you want, if you want to hurt me back, I’ll take it. I deserve it,” Harry wept on.

“Shut up, Harry.”

“No! I won’t shut up!” he said, wiping the tears from his face, but his eyes kept watering. “Do you really want to hurt me more? Do it. I deserve it.”

“I don’t have time for this,” said Louis, walking out of the room. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. Harry should have been angry. Harry should hate him for what he did. He shouldn’t be begging. He shouldn’t feel weak. He shouldn’t be following him to the front door.

“Louis, please, talk to me. We can fix this,” he said as he grabbed Louis’s arm, “I need you to say something. Please!”

“Get your hands off me Harry!”

Louis felt Harry’s resolve weaken as he let go and let Louis slam the door in his face. It was only then that Louis felt his heart beating, manic, erratic, guilt-stricken, and lonely. He tried to shush it as he started the car and sped away.

 

**Love at first sight**

It was the curls that did him in. This boy at the end of the bar had been eyeing Louis over the past hour, subtly throwing hints by way of a dimpled smile. A drink, a dance, and a conversation later, they were fucking in a toilet stall, this college kid bent over and barely stifling his moans as Louis pounded away, and came, and left without saying as much as a thank you.

By the time Louis went back to the bar, his friends, Liam, Niall, and Zayn, were winding down. One final round of shots and they called it a night. Without a cab in sight, Louis took it upon himself to walk twenty-eight blocks to his flat—an idea, he soon realized, that only seemed sound when you're drunk. After passing through block number twelve, he found himself leaning on a park bench, catching his breath. He could feel last night’s debauchery catch up with him. There was too much alcohol, too much dancing, too much pelvic thrusting. He felt the ache in his hips. He swore he could smell the stench of booze, and sweat, and sex on him. Mornings in the city were chilly at that time of year. He started shivering as the cold wind blew through the thin fabric of his sweater. Before he knew it, he was sneezing and in danger of turning into a popsicle if he didn’t move. But his legs just would not budge and his butt had decided to make the park bench its home. Sleeping on it seemed like a viable option. He’d done that before.

From a distance, he could hear shops opening. In a few minutes, London would be waking up, but until then, he had time to savor the silence, relish in his aloneness, feel a puppy nipping his shoes.

“Oy!” Louis jolted.

A little terrier had found its way to him and found particular interest in his footwear. The pesky pet was dragging a leash, meaning its unfortunate owner was probably nearby looking for it.

“There you are!” came a deep voice from behind him. A tall guy with long hair approached Louis, picking up the dog from the ground. “I have to apologize. This little guy is a menace. I hope she didn’t bother you much.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Louis said, watching the guy scold the dog as if the pup gave a damn about the words this beautiful human was saying. “You better keep a tighter leash on your dog, though.”

“Oh, she isn’t mine. I’m just walking her for a friend,” the guy smiled, revealing a dimpled face. “It’s good that she got loose, though.”

“Why’s that?” Louis asked.

“If she didn’t, I wouldn’t have met you.”

A smile made its way across Louis’s face. Smooth. This guy was smooth. “Are you like this with all the hobos in park benches?”

“Are you a hobo?” The guy’s brows furrowed, considering the situation.

“No.”

“Then no,” the guy smiled. “I’m Harry.”

“Louis,” he said, shaking Harry’s free hand. Perhaps it was the warmth of another human being that cold, cold morning, but he felt a tingle course through him the moment their hands had made contact. Harry’s hands were rather large and rather soft. It engulfed his in that tender gesture.

“It’s nice to meet you Louis. Would you like to get breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” Louis smirked as he remembered the state he was in. He was pretty sure there were vodka stains all over his shirt, not to mention some unmentionable fluids on his pants. “Mate, I’m a mess.”

Harry gave him a quick once-over, “You look fine to me.”

“Will you be paying?”

“It wouldn’t be a proper first date if I didn’t.”

“A date?” Louis quirked an eyebrow, “Has anybody told you’re quick and presumptuous?”

“Presumptuous, yes. Quick, not so much. I talk rather slowly.” Harry drew the last phrase out for emphasis.

Louis studied Harry’s face once more. The morning sun was slowly rising, the rays of it reflecting on this guy’s glorious mane. He was criminally beautiful. No one was supposed to look that way before 7 a.m. on a Saturday. That was a time for hangovers and walks of shame. Harry was the exception, apparently. “Alright, as long as you’re paying for tea and keeping your dog well-behaved, lead the way.”

 

**Harry's confession**

He could barely make out Harry’s silhouette through the tears stinging his eyes. Not once in their five years together did he expect a day like this would come. Harry’s words had shattered him; pieces of his heart lay on their bedroom floor like sharp shards of glass. Harry couldn’t even bear looking at the mess he made. His shame had taken over him. His guilt made him pull away. Harry took up a spot by the window to weep quietly, blocking a view of the setting sun. It was a fitting symbol of their relationship. Louis just stared at him, watching as the edges of his lover’s face get caressed by the dimming sunlight, turning what was once a warm orange into a cold and icy blue.

‘It just happened’ kept ringing in his head. How could ‘ _it_ ’ have ‘ _just happened_ ’? There were no accidents in infidelity. Two parties had to consent to it. No matter how much Harry explained, he allowed himself to get used. Yes, there was alcohol involved, but that was no excuse. He allowed himself to be vulnerable. He allowed himself to become prey. Louis had played and replayed the scenario Harry painted in his head. He couldn’t erase his disgust. He couldn’t calm his anger. Each time the thought of it replayed in his head, it hurt him a little more.

“I’m so sorry, Lou! I was drunk. I was a mess,” Harry pleaded as he moved towards him.

“Stay away from me, Harry, please,” Louis said, his request falling on deaf ears as Harry further closed the gap between them. “Don’t touch me, Harry!” Louis yelled, but Harry still did. Harry latched onto him, afraid that if he let go, he’d lose Louis forever. “With that fucking creep, Harry! You did it with that fucking creep! I can’t even look at you,” Louis said through tears, closing his eyes, pretending those arms around his waist weren’t real.

“Please, Lou, you have to believe me,” Harry said, getting on his knees to beg. “I’m so sorry.”

“Get off me!” Louis threatened to slap him, but Harry just clung tighter, hugging his waist, resting his head on Louis’s stomach.

“I’m so sorry, Louis. I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

_Love_. Louis couldn’t even fathom it at that moment. He couldn’t process anything that came out from Harry’s lips—words that felt so empty and hollow. He didn’t realize when that happened. There was a time when he clung to Harry’s every statement, when his words bore so much weight and love, but at that moment, they were nothing. They meant nothing.

“Let go of me, Harry, please. I can’t breathe.”

 

**Louis's confession**

Harry’s skin tasted like sweet lemon curd as Louis kissed the back of his neck. He wanted the memory seared into his brain. He wanted to memorize every aspect of him, like the way Harry’s toes curled before he climaxed, or the way Harry’s tongue felt as he ate him out. The mere thought of those things got him hard again as if they hadn’t been going at it throughout the night. He wanted to fuck Harry again, but the urge to lie down and cuddle felt stronger.

This was Louis’s first time at Harry’s apartment, the first time he got a full glimpse into Harry’s private world. It didn’t look exactly how he had pictured it, but it was definitely Harry’s—messy, and interesting, and overwhelming, and very much lived in. It felt like home. It took a month before it got to this point. It took a month before Harry could trust him enough with this part of him. But Louis savored that. He appreciated the slow reveal. After their very quick acquaintance, he liked thought of unraveling this man like a gift he waited so long for before unwrapping him on Christmas morn. He appreciated times like this, especially this one, when they could just cuddle up under the sheets in their post-orgasm haze.

“You’re beautiful,” Louis whispered as he went in for another kiss, this time on Harry’s shoulder. He could feel the guy thrum in his arms. “I could kiss you all over,” he said, continuing descent down Harry’s spine, making him moan. Harry turned around so he could pull Louis up and see his face, but Louis continued his assault, letting his lips fall on Harry’s chest, kissing the hardened muscle there. “You’re glorious.” A kiss. “You’re perfect.” And another. “You’re—” A pause.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked.

Louis had moved up so their noses would touch. From this close, Louis could make out the very faint hints of freckles on Harry's cheeks. He could see bits of brown in the green pools that were Harry’s eyes. And they were lovely eyes, and they were only for him to inspect this close, this intimately.

“You take my breath away,” Louis whispered, which elicited a response he wasn’t really expecting. Harry started laughing at him, making him laugh along. No matter how cheesy the sentiment, Louis was sure the seriousness of his statement was not lost on Harry. As their laughter died down, Louis traced a finger along Harry’s dimple and went in for a kiss, soft and tender, treating Harry’s lips as the most delicate things his own lips had ever landed on. “You’re beautiful,” he repeated.

“ _You’re_ beautiful,” Harry said right back.

Another kiss.

“I think I love you,” Louis whispered as they parted. He could hear a second’s pause as Harry processed the words that hung between them.

“I think I love you as well.”

“I’m serious, Harry. I mean it.”

“I’m serious, too,” Harry smiled as he pulled Louis into another kiss.

“I love you, Harry Styles,” said Louis, pulling away briefly, “I want you to be mine.”

“I'm yours, Louis Tomlinson, for as long as you want me, I'm yours.”

 

**Hurt people hurt people**

Louis was staring at a long list of emails he hadn’t touched since he sat in his cubicle. The requests kept piling up to the point of overwhelming, but he couldn’t be bothered to open at least one of them. He could not deal with other people’s problems at the moment, not when he couldn’t even deal with his own. When had Harry become this chip on his shoulder when the man was supposed to be gentle kiss there? Louis just kept staring at the clock, wishing it was time to leave, wishing it was time to escape.

He had been like this since Harry’s confession. Four days. His eyes grazed the edge of his desk where a picture of the two of them sat. Their younger selves looked back in him, all smiles. They had taken that on their second-year anniversary, on a sunny weekend in Brighton when Harry decided Louis deserved a special surprise. They had no problems then. Back then, none of them had decided to sleep with another man. Louis just couldn’t shake of the thought of another man’s lips on Harry’s skin, of another man’s—

“Earth to Louis? Come in, Louis,” Liam said waving his hand in front of his co-worker’s face.

“Yeah?”

“I asked if you still want to go out for drinks with Niall and Zayn? We’re leaving in a few.”

“Sure. Let me just pack up here.”

“We’ll see you downstairs, yeah?” Liam smiled as he left Louis back to his thoughts, back to that photograph that mocked him. The picture felt like a wonderful lie. He took it and stuffed it somewhere he couldn’t see.

The sounds in the club were blaring. It was perfect, Louis thought. It drowned out whatever images were flooding his head. He was on his eight shot of vodka, filling him with just the right amount of buzz to forget that his friends had told him to slow down about an hour ago. They had disappeared somewhere on the dance floor. In focus, though, was a familiar head of curls—the college boy, who had probably graduated then, the one who could pass off as knock-off Harry. He made his way to him like a predator.

In the toilets, while thrusting balls-deep into this boy’s ass, Louis took out his phone and sent a snap.

 

**People in love**

Photo received.

Louis was itching to sneak a glance when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He scanned the boardroom for prying eyes before taking a quick look, which proved to be a big mistake. A photo of Harry ironing shirts in a gold thong was enough to send him howling in laughter. This of course, got him odd looks from his colleagues and a very stern one from his boss. He had excused himself from the room to to send Harry a quick text about his being a menace and how he loved him very, very dearly.

The rest of the day was spent like that—them exchanging photographs, trying to outdo each other in terms of silliness. It had tapered off in the afternoon when Harry said he needed to run an errand. This is why it caught Louis off-guard when he spotted his boyfriend waiting for him outside his office.

“What are you doing here?” Louis said with smile and a quick kiss.

“I came to surprise you. Surprise!” Harry said as he kissed him back.

“I’m very pleasantly surprised. How long have you been out here?”

“Not long,” Harry replied.

Louis didn’t buy that response and scrutinized Harry’s expression more closely.

“Fine,” Harry relented, “I’ve been out here for a while. But that doesn’t matter though. For you, Louis Tomlinson, I’d wait forever.”

“Quit being cheesy, Styles,” Louis said, but the butterflies in his stomach proved that he rather liked being pandered to. “So where are we going?”

“What makes you so sure we’re going somewhere?” Harry said as they began walking down the street.

“You’re dressed up rather nicely today, which is very suspicious.”

“I just haven’t done my laundry yet.”

“You were ironing your clothes this morning.”

“Was I?” Harry feigned ignorance.

“So where are we going?”

It was an exhibit somewhere in the arts district. One of Harry’s photographer friends had invited them to the opening. There was champagne and canapes and girls in gowns. There were guys in brogues and chardonnay and music he swore was copycat of Harry’s obscure playlist. The photos on the walls were larger than life, blown up and glitzy and black and white. Many of them were portraits of people who, Louis noticed, had graced the event. Louis felt a bit underdressed, but it didn’t matter by the way Harry looked at him. Under Harry’s gaze, he felt like a work of art.

“Ah, Harry! Glad you could come!” said a man in a velvet suit and hair drowning in pomade. Louis watched closely as the guy kissed each of Harry’s cheeks. “And this must be Louis, hello!”

“Lou, this is Nick. This is his exhibit.”

“Oh, nice job with the photos,” Louis said, shaking the guy’s greasy hand.

“These? Ha! These are nothing! You should see the pièce de résistance!” he said, escorting the lads to the end of the room where a huge portrait of Harry hung. Harry’s gaze was intense, magnified by the contrast—his jawline, contoured by shadow and his cheekbones emphasized by light. He looked as if he was photographed by Hedi Slimane. Unfortunately, this run-of-the-mill Hedi named Nick was a huge poser, Louis thought.

“Oh, this _is_ irresistible,” said Louis, “I can’t wait to hang this over our bed.”

“I don’t think it would fit,” said Harry.

“It’s not for sale,” said Nick. “This belongs to _my_ personal collection.”

“Right,” Louis said.

“It’s quite lovely to look at, isn’t it? I could just stare at that beautiful face all day. Now if you’d excuse me, I have a lot more guests to entertain. Please, enjoy the art,” said Nick before walking away.

“Well, that guy’s a total creep,” Louis said before focusing back to his boyfriend’s portrait, “When did this happen?”

“A couple of months ago. I remember telling you about it.”

“Oh, right. The portfolio. I didn’t think it would be part of an exhibit.”

“I didn’t think so, too.”

“It makes me feel a little jealous, having all these people gawk at how handsome my boyfriend is.”

“You’re jealous?” Harry asked with a smile.

“Proper jealous,” Louis replied.

“Then why don’t we correct that and give _them_ something to be jealous about?” Harry said, taking Louis in his arms and kissing him right in the middle of the gallery. Louis just let himself melt into it. Now this was a thing of beauty, he thought fondly.

 

**Louis's apology**

He passed another red light, his mind still somewhere else, still in their room, still watching Harry fall apart. Louis couldn’t understand why Harry was so ready to take all that pain. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Harry would rather choose to accept the hurt Louis had inflicted on him in exchange for loving him more. Louis did not deserve love. He deserved to be resented. He deserved hate. He hurt Harry way worse than he had hurt him. Why didn’t Harry see that? Why couldn’t Harry hate him the way he hated Harry? All that time, Louis thought he felt that—anger for Harry—but in reality it was fear. He was so scared of losing him. He was too blinded by fear to realize that Harry was clinging on to him tightly, that he wasn’t going to budge. And that realization filled him with  guilt, guilt over what he had done, guilt over what he didn’t do, which was forgive Harry or at least give him a chance. He fooled himself into thinking that hurting Harry would make him feel better, but it only made things worse.

Harry’s fault was a drunken mistake, one he had no control over. Louis’s was intentional. He drank himself to numbness. He was a predator who took advantage of a random stranger. He had picked the kid specifically because he looked a lot like Harry. He sent the video for Harry to see. His intention was to hurt him and hurt him very badly. And Louis had succeeded. He broke Harry. He broke the love of his life. He broke their relationship beyond repair. That very thought scared him even more. Leaving Harry alone and broken was a mistake. He needed to go back. He needed to tell Harry how he felt.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Louis wept behind the wheel as he made a turn. “I’m so—“

Crash. Louis’s car had spun madly as a speeding car hit his side at breakneck speed. All he could hear was the sound of twisting metal and breaking glass, the sound of screeching rubber on the asphalt road, the sound of steel parts coming loose and spilling on the ground. All he wanted to say was left unsaid on the middle of the road where his lifeless body lay and bled out.

 

**Harry's apology**

Harry’s whole body trembled as he made his way to Louis’s room. It had been four months, four long months since the accident. There were no signs of him waking up, and the final consultation with the doctors pointed to the inevitable. There was no reviving Louis from this coma.

Harry closed the door behind him, asking for a moment’s privacy. He leaned on the wall, watching the love of his life live off a machine they had tethered him to. He had cried over this image about a million times already, but today, it seemed like he would cry more than he ever did. Harry braced himself as he pulled a chair to the side of the bed and held Louis’s hand in his. It was cold. It looked so delicate in Harry’s own.

“The first time I saw you at that park, I knew right away that I loved you. I don’t know why, but I did. Fate brought me to you, and I know that… I know that if I didn’t take a chance, I would lose you. But I still managed to fuck things up, didn’t I?”

Harry looked at Louis’s face. The wounds had healed pretty well, but there was no life in him, no familiar smile to greet him, and that thought only spurred more tears he didn’t realize he was already shedding. “I don’t know how many times I need to apologize, Lou. I don’t know how many times I need to say sorry. I don’t care what you did with that other guy. I forgive you for that. What I can’t stand is knowing that you left hating me. Why did you leave me, Louis? Why?”

“I know you can hear me somewhere there. If I could take it back, I would. There’s nothing in this world I love more than you, Lou. You have to know that. I love you, Lou. I love you so, so much. But you have to forgive me, Lou. You have to. I don’t have much choice.” Harry ran his free hand through Louis’s hair as the doctor and nurse walked in. “Can you please give me a few more minutes, please?” Harry said. The doctor just nodded.

“We have to pull the plug, Lou,” Harry whispered as tears welled up again. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to lose you. But I have no other choice. I’ve run out of options.” The doctor walked over to the machine. In a few seconds, it would die, and with it, the love of his life. ”I’m so sorry Lou. I love you so much. I love you so much,” he said trying to wipe his tears with his free hand, the other still tightly wound in Louis’s. As all hope in Harry began fading away, he felt a tingle course through him from where he and Louis’s hands had touched. Louis entwined his fingers with Harry’s. Louis held on.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was a roller coaster. It was a series of highs and lows, having to tap into those different emotions. I think I may have overdone the cheesiness and drama. Oh well. But I’m happy I got to churn this out since the idea started spinning in my head. I hope you guys enjoyed the ride while reading. Do tell me what you think, especially since this is the first piece of purely Larry fiction I’ve written. Cheers!


End file.
